


dental insurance doesn't cover pining

by doofusface



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Best Friends, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Love Confessions, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wisdom Teeth, did i tag it that because of the extraction? probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 07:51:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13993818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doofusface/pseuds/doofusface
Summary: “C’aw me Em’Jei.”“Okay, MJ,” the nurse laughs, patting her head. Michelle makes a smiling puppy face, tilting her head towards the hand. “Promise, no kissing your boyfriend until the wounds are all healed, right?”





	dental insurance doesn't cover pining

**Author's Note:**

> my 20th fic on this site is appropriately pining, laughing gas, and superheroes. what's new.

The camera shakes; Ned’s laughter behind it echoes in the room.

 _“All in favor of kissing Peter Parker senseless?”_ he asks, schooling himself to sound like a military general.

 _“HAWLL YUHHHH,”_ Michelle drawls, louder than her usual state. The nurse laughs, lowering her arms.

(Ned’s been _waiting_ for this day. This sweet, _glorious_ day. What a time to be alive and to own a smartphone with an HD camera.)

 _“No kissing,_ ” the nurse warns, his finger wagging in front of Michelle’s face. “ _Kissing bad. Okay, Michelle?_ ”

“ _Yuh. C’aw me Em’Jei.”_

“ _Okay, MJ_ ,” he laughs, patting her head. Michelle makes a smiling puppy face, tilting her head towards the hand. “ _Promise, no kissing your boyfriend until the wounds are all healed, right?_ ”

“ _Nooo,_ ” she protests, and Ned’s barely alive, gasping for air.

The nurse sighs. “ _Hey, you were already on board earlier, kiddo_. _You never backed out on me and Dr. Tan before._ ”

“ _Nuhhh, I ‘eanh_ ,” Michelle starts, then drops into an equally loud stage whisper. “ _Hefe nuh m’uh boyyyfren_.”

“ _Yet_ ,” Ned supplies off-screen. Michelle nods, gesturing to him in a drunken version of her usual way. His thumbs-up enters frame, and she nods with a sleepy smile at him. “ _I gotchu, fam_.”

“ _Yeeee, my maaah’, ‘ed-o Reefs._ ”

Ned drops the phone, his shaking form wracked with silent laughter entering frame. He grasps the dentist’s table, then moves to pick his phone back up. “ _Yup, I’m your man, alright. Bestest bud._ ”

Michelle points an accusing finger at him as the camera refocuses on her. “ _Pe’er’s yerrr beshesh buh. Buh, ahwso mei’. Ah’ yooh! Yee_ — _heh, heh_ — _yeerrr my beshhh buhh._ ”

“ _That’s right, MJ. We’re both your best buds._ ”

 _And best buds collect blackmail material during wisdom teeth removal_ , he thinks to himself, grinning.

Her face turns serious-confused, furrowing her brows at the room she’s in. “ _Whe’ awh’ wuh?_ ”

“ _Dr. Tan’s office, MJ_ ,” the nurse answers patiently. “ _You just had your wisdom teeth removed_.”

“ _Noooo, I liii’kh em! I li’khh bee’in wiiiiih’_ ,” she says in obvious distress, her voice rising in volume again. “ _I nee’ emmm!_ ”

“ _What else you need, MJ?_ ” Ned asks. It’s the third time he’s asked it, because it’s the third time the nurse has had to explain she’s at the dentist’s office. He knows the answer. But, for science, he must repeat the question.

“ _Pe’errrr annn hi’h ‘uhm fay’_.”

“ _Peter and his dumb face?_ ”

“ _Uh-huh. Pruh’y fay’._ ”

Ned knows Michelle’s going to kill him, but he asks it anyway. “ _Pretty face?_ ”

“ _Uhhh-huhhhhh_.”

The nurse turns to him. “ _She sure that Peter’s not her boyfriend?_ ”

“ _Yeah. They’re dumb. It’s been a year_.”

“ _You’re a good friend,_ ” he says, and the camera moves, as if Ned’s being adjusted. It stops above Michelle’s right side, blocking the light enough to confuse her. “ _If you take a down-shot from here she’ll think it’s a flying saucer._ ”

* * *

Ned’s the one Michelle calls for these sorts of things because she’s aware of collateral damage.

Collateral damage being she’s going to be high as a kite and will probably say something about Peter that she’s going to regret. Also because his mom doesn’t mind driving them around and makes a mean vegetarian-friendly porridge.

That doesn't stop indirect details of whatever happened in that dentist's room from escaping into the outside world.

Peter squints at his phone. “Ned, why’s your Twitter name ‘ed-o reefs’?”

Michelle freezes for a second, applesauce jerking to a stop halfway to her mouth. Her eyes widen a fraction, but stay trained on the TV screen.

Ned’s been practicing being cool like Michelle. He successfully pulls off a lazy, casual shrug. “No reason.”

The applesauce reaches its destination. Michelle takes a deep breath through her nose, her agitation rising. “I’m. Going. Yeah.”

Peter’s voice rises an octave in confusion. “What? Why? Did your stitches get messed up?”

She shakes her head furiously, standing to go. Her response comes out like Morse code, but more robotic. “Mm, mm. _Mmm_ -mm-mm.”

“Maybe the applesauce wasn’t fresh?” Ned offers, already getting up.

“Whoa, wait, where you goin’?” Peter asks, confused.

“To…” He squints. “...check on MJ.”

“Oh. I can—”

“You, uh, weren’t there,” Ned says slowly, patting his shoulder, “I got all the doctor’s notes and stuff for it, no worries.”

Peter’s face scrunches up. “You sure?”

“Yup, def.” Ned gives him a thumbs up, then taps his own temple. “Database.”

“Okay. I’ll, uh, I guess I’ll wait here?” Peter says, while looking back out to the living room and hallway, trying to spot Michelle.

“Yeah, dude, great plan!” Ned says encouragingly.

He’s out the door before he can descend into a fit of laughter, and Michelle—puffed-cheeks, angry-squinting Michelle—threatens him with a glare that he’s sure he’ll feel in the afterlife.

“Show me. Tomorrow,” she commands, and Ned has not feared until this day.

* * *

“ _Kill me_ ,” she breathes, watching and _hearing_ it for a third time.

“He hasn’t seen it,” Ned consoles.

“Good.”

“...”

Michelle turns. Her cheeks are less inflamed, and she’ll be back to eating hummus _on_ pita by tonight. “Leeds. Do _not_. Show it. To him.”

“I’m not saying _I_ will,” Ned starts, his voice rising slightly, “but I’m also not saying Peter doesn’t have access to Tony Stark’s fleet of fast-hacking AI’s and, if I heard correctly, he’s going upstate for training this weekend.” He says it in such a rush that he feels his lunch trying to catch up.

Oh, joke. That’s his nerves. Silly him.

“You just _had_ to change your Twitter name, didn’t’cha?” Michelle groans, head in her hands. “This has set me back severely.”

“I’m pretty sure he likes you.”

Her head turns sharply. “Don’t mess with me. There’s no laughing gas to protect you now, idiot.”

“I’m serious,” he says softly.

“I’m more.” Michelle stands, hands stuffed firmly in the pockets of her jacket. “Peter’s a dope when he likes someone. He’s _fine_ with me. I’m not stupid.”

She leaves before Ned can argue that that’s when he’s got a crush versus when he’s in love.

* * *

It’s...uncomfortable to see them together.

Michelle’s been on eggshells since seeing the video, and, while there’s no guarantee of her sitting with them at lunch anymore, she still does. Because it’s more obvious _not_ to.

Peter can barely start a conversation with her because she just shuts down everything he says, so Ned’s left with the topic of South Asian books and poetry which, unsurprisingly, does not carry for long.

It’s frustrating, and Decathlon practice is _worse_ , somehow, because they _have_ to interact.

“Did something happen?” Cindy asks the next Wednesday during a ten-minute break. She juts her chin out to Peter's direction, Michelle having left the room. “Did they fight?”

“ _Worse_ ,” Ned replies. “They _didn’t_.”

(He’s a good friend who won’t spill the beans, but at least he got _something_ off his chest.)

Cindy pats him consolingly, then passes him flash cards. “Michelle said to give these to you, by the way.”

He stares at them cautiously, then flips through in confusion. “These are...normal?”

“Uh, yeah. They’re just flash cards,” Cindy replies. She turns back to Abe, chattering on about her aunt’s green card issues.

Ned takes a second look at the cards. Nothing out of the ordinary. Science questions, history questions, PolSci q— _wait._

He lays them down, overlapping in order, each only showing the first letter of the questions. He sighs.

_U-R. D-E-A-D. 2. M-E._

“Is this how Obi-Wan felt?” he mutters, as Michelle returns to the podium with Mr. Harrington in tow.

“Aight. You should all have your study cards for the weekend—you can look at them later,” she says, eyes pointedly boring into Ned’s form. “For now, back to drills.”

* * *

“What happened?” Ned asks when Peter leaves the room. He’s the most surprised that they still do movie nights with this weird vibe around them, but he loves his friends so he’s not about to stop it.

Michelle sprawls on (Peter’s) bed, limbs overflowing onto the floor. “He knows.”

Ned sits up, scooching over using his knees. Michelle’s eyes are devoid of emotion, reminding him of that one time when she asked Peter if he was hiding anything.

“Are you sure?”

“He’s been avoiding me for three days unless you’re with us. I’m sure.”

“You’ve kinda been avoiding him too,” Ned says slowly.

She sighs. “I am aware, Watson.”

“Are you _sure_ sure? ‘Cause you know Peter can also get antsy when he thinks we’re mad at him.”

Michelle sits up, pulls up her legs, and hugs her knees. “You know I want to be wrong, Leeds. Besides, he _looks_ guilty.”

“You never know, he could’ve just hacked into our phones and switched some numbers around,” Ned says, trying to coax out a laugh.

She snorts. “Yeah, like that dweeb is capable of that kind of prank.”

Peter _yelps_ in the doorway. “Whatcha—whatcha guys talkin’ about?”

Michelle stiffens beside Ned, the bed shifting slightly with her movements. “Nothing,” she says robotically.

“Less than nothing,” Ned adds. Michelle nudges him and _ow_ , _bony_. “Uh, the perfect amount of nothing. Now that you’re back. With pizza.”

Peter’s tapping his fingers on the box. _Stimming_ , Michelle notes with a quirk of her lips. _Stop being endearing_.

Peter puts the box down on his desk. “Okay, cool. Well. Food.”

“Food,” Michelle repeats.

“Food!” Ned cheers, shakily.

Regret is a fine slice of cheese pizza and costs $8.99 plus tax. Regret is in their bellies and in their cells.

Regret is looking over to The One—because you know they’re the _one_ , even if you’re only seventeen-going-on-eighteen, because you’re sure of loving them as much as you’re sure the earth is round—and them looking away.

Regret is watching your best friends reach for the last slice of pizza and brush hands and letting them ignore it, because you’re big enough and lack shame enough to make them stay put and talk about it.

Regret is not telling your buddies your colleague (Sam. Always Sam.) dared you to hack their phones and switch their numbers with yours for a day, so you know they’ve been texting each other about you and about how much of a flake you are, and you think they’re mad about something, but you still don’t know what _for_.

* * *

“Okay, I can’t do this anymore,” Peter wheezes, standing up abruptly. They’re in the middle of the cafeteria. This is not ideal.

Ned looks up at him in fear. Michelle stops drawing, then turns slightly, obscuring her face with one hand and continues the motions.

 _Deep breaths, Peter_. “I’m sorry I hacked your phones.”

“ _Eep_ ,” Ned squeaks.

Michelle ducks down further, and stops drawing altogether.

“I swear it was only a day—”

“Bye,” Michelle says, cutting him off. She’s out of her seat faster than Pietro in the few videos Peter’s seen of him.

“I feel really bad!” he yells, but the students are many and the noises loud. He turns to Ned. “I really feel bad, Sam was messing with me, and Tony was out—”

Ned looks like a ghost. Like straight up, left his body and is no longer _occupado._

“Ned? Dude?” Peter hunkers down on his seat, patting his friend’s face. “You okay?”

“You saw the video?”

“What? No, I just switched our numbers—I thought you were mad at me…” Peter squints. “What video?”

“ _No video_ ,” Ned near-screams, and of course _that_ catches the attention of half the people at lunch. “Going. Gotta. MJ.” He jumps to his feet, runs off, comes back, and goes in _real close_ by Peter’s face. “Do not. Open. My phone. Ever. Again.”

And he’s off.

...And everyone’s staring at Peter.

“Uh. His.” _Squints_. “Karaoke. Baby karaoke videos.”

 _I need to get better at lying_.

* * *

There’s something blindingly delightful about finding out that the love of your life loves you back.

It almost outweighs the guilt you feel for re-hacking into your alpha best friend’s phone the day after he tells you not to.

Oh well. He can apologize for that.

Peter’s just glad they weren’t mad at him when they sent “ _any more tips and tricks and ill be doing his essay for MIT_ ” and “ _yeah he’s kinda slow but I COULD talk to him if you want_ ” and “ _screw. that. let him fend for himself_ ”.

...Eh. Maybe they were. But not in the _We Know What You Did With Our Private Property And Are Here To Make You Cease And Desist_ way like he'd thought.

* * *

Here’s the thing: Michelle’s got good impulse control. She does. It’s a fact of life.

So when Peter- _freakin’_ -Parker shows up at the other side of her front door on Friday morning, bright and early, she doesn’t deck him.

He is her friend.

Barely, lately, but still listed under _People Who Can Call Me MJ_.

“Uh. You’re blocking the door.”

“Uh-huh.”

“...Would you like to move?” she says slowly, enunciating every other word with care and a bob of her head.

He’s grinning, one side of his lips twitching farther than the other. “Uh-uh.”

Michelle Jones is queen of impulse control. Empress, even.

So when Peter leans up and kisses her like there’s no tomorrow, she would like to say that she _doesn’t_ kiss back _immediately_ , and that she _doesn’t_ wrap her arms around his neck and _hold_ him there for a good three-to-five minutes.

Is she extremely glad her parents are still on their 20-hour shift at the hospital? Yes.

Is she gonna stand here enjoying Peter’s— _ahem_ —“company” instead of maintain her perfect school record? Would be nice, yes, but she's a principled rebel.

It takes a few tries, but she manages to break free and catch her breath, Peter’s lips chasing hers every which way.

“Okay, time-out,” she _tries_ to say evenly, but it feels very _laughing gas_ at the moment. “Can’t say that wasn’t fun, but I _am_ a regular human and need to breathe.”

“Fun,” Peter nods. His face is _red_ , and his hair? Could match hers for Most Untamable.

She resists the urge to swoop down again. “I take it you saw the video?”

“‘ _Haaawwwlll-yuhhhh_ ’,” he quotes in a whisper, hugging her tightly. “You’re adorable.”

“You’re obnoxious.”

“You _liiiikeee_ me. You think my face is _preeeettyyy_.” He moves closer, moving up to smooch her nose. “You want me to be your _boooyfriendddd_.”

“I’m killing Ned,” she replies to the air ahead, eyes scanning for the perpetrator of her recent troubles.

“No killing Ned,” Peter says, taking her hands from behind his neck and kissing each knuckle in a random order. “He doesn’t know I saw it.”

“So wait,” she starts, face scrunched up. Her brain’s finally rolling again—thanks, oxygen. “If you saw the video, how come you didn’t—”

“Do this earlier?”

A nod.

“I just saw it last night,” he says, words spewing like a lidless mixer, “I was saying, the other day, Sam dared me to hack your phones and switch around the numbers—”

“—Leeds is _psychic_ —”

“—and I did, and I thought you were mad at me, and I tried doing that thing you do where you talk about smart stuff and not just _Star Wars_ , but you wouldn’t look at me so I thought, ‘Oh, no, I’m too late, they probably know they were texting _me_ instead of each other on Saturday’ and—”

Michelle tilts her head. “Uhhh, rewind.”

Peter stills.

“You switched our contacts on Saturday?”

He nods.

“And you didn’t _notice_ anything?”

Shakes his head.

“ _Ohhhh_ man. Wow. Okay, _you_?” She pecks his lips. “You need something called _common sense_.”

Peter melts. “May’s brought that up before. _And_ Tony. _And_ Shuri.”

“Shuri’s smart, you should listen to her,” Michelle nods, patting his head. “She made sure you didn’t die last time you got shot, which was nice.”

“Yeah, nice.”

A beat.

“...You want to kiss me again, don’t you?”

“Nice,” he repeats, looking straight at her.

She shoves him off (“gently”), tugging him towards the subway with one hand. “If I’m late you get zero kisses.”

“Why punish yourself for my mistake?” he replies.

She turns to find him smirking. “I’m a fair ruler, unlike our country’s government.”

“Noted,” he says, picking her up and _running_.

She _yelps_. “ _The_ _hell_ , Peter?”

“I really don’t want you to be late,” he argues, grinning.

And they’re not.

And Ned’s not.

And there’s a _whole_ -flippin’- _lot_ of people standing by Midtown’s exit at the end of the day, because Ned likes to announce things on social media for no reason, Peter’s Will Smith-levels of showy, and Michelle's still wondering if they're technically breaking PDA rules by making out on the last step of the school.

**Author's Note:**

> i like? fluff? and my kids being happy? and ned being the greatest bro??
> 
> comments/kudos appreciated, but i will love you either way


End file.
